A Warm Trend
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: Liz and Red's relationship is in shambles. Can a trip to Cuba heal their broken trust? AU 1x07.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine; I own nothing. **

**A/N: This started as a oneshot, but quickly turned into something else. I would love to know what you think.**

-0-0-0-

The elevator shuttered and stopped. Lizzie looked around, instinctively trying to find the source of the disruption. "What the hell just happened?" And then she saw Reddington; he was _smiling._

She narrowed her eyes, realization dawning. "How did -"

"You think I can't do that Lizzie? You think I can't shut down a freight elevator at an FBI black site?" He took a step toward her, fedora in hand. "I can do anything I want to, Lizzie." He was close enough for his breath to stir the loose strands of hair and she could smell his aftershave.

She stepped away from him, the close proximity throwing her slightly off balance. She withdrew her cell phone. No signal. His soft laughter echoed off the metal walls of the closed-in space surrounding her. He wagged his finger like she was a petulant school girl. "That won't work either dear," he said dryly. "It's also shielded." He narrowed his eyes. "This elevator is now the most secure place on the planet."

Liz pocketed the cell phone. Her heart did a little flip with the realization of his words. She was all alone, but not alone. She flexed her fingers.

"What do you want?"

Red circled her as an animal circles its prey. His stare was even more unnerving than usual. He stepped inside the circle he was making and spoke through her hair. "I want you to stop fighting me," he whispered.

His breath in her ear had a disarming effect, and he knew it. _Damn him_, she thought. He was trying to play her like he had the first day they met. She steeled her fortitude by counting backwards in her head. _25...24...23...  
_

"You see Lizzie, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," he said steadily. "And you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me." He was looking at her lips; she had licked them nervously and they were still moist. "You would be at a desk somewhere reading my file, wondering why Ressler had dog-eared so many pages." Red frowned. "How boring."

Irrationally, Liz imagined he could hear her heart beating. She stepped away from him, trying to regain distance. The damn elevator was so small...

"I'm not fighting you." She folded her arms across her chest. _Body language 101: Leave me alone_. "I've worked with you; I've done everything asked of me," she said evenly.

He cocked his head ever so slightly. "Such a good agent," he said sarcastically. "But we do make a pretty good team, don't we?"

Apparently Body Language 101 was a class Red never had to take, because he was gradually closing the distance between them. She looked him hard in the eyes. "We are not a team."

Red smiled. He had been moving his fingers around the brim of the fedora, making slow circles and then beginning again in the other direction. His hand went up to shepherd an errant lock of her hair, and he leaned in close. "Then what would you say we are," he murmured.

It was the out she was looking for. Before the last syllable, she had his hand behind his back, his thumb locked in a painful and unnatural position, his face against the steel wall of the elevator. His startled laugh set her teeth on edge. "You start this elevator right now," she spat. She wrung the compromised arm for emphasis and he grunted.

"Or what," he said with effort. "Or you'll tell your husband Tom? Or whoever he is?"

His words caught her momentarily off guard, which was his intention. In that instant of wavering, Red had her legs out from under her and both wrists pinned against the wall before she could cry out. His body was flush against hers, and his arms, deceptively pedestrian under his tailored shirts, were pylons of strength. For the first time since he'd stopped the elevator, she felt a momentary flutter of panic.

"I spent six months in Nepal studying Lama Pai," he said into her ear. "Don't try that again, Lizzie because I really don't want to hurt you." She struggled, attempting to twist away but only succeeding in arching her body further into his. "You're hurting me now," she said through gritted teeth.

He studied her face as if it hung in a museum. "No," he said simply, "I haven't hurt you yet."

Sometimes she forgot who he was, she thought. His pristine dress and impeccable mannerisms portrayed an image of gentility. But he was a monster, a beast in gentleman's fair.

She screamed. It was fruitless and it only weakened her resolve, but she screamed anyway. He let her. Waves of panic and despair threatened to crash overhead. It was so tempting to let them carry her away, she thought. She began to cry. "Shhh..." he cooed in her ear. "Everything's alright Lizzie." Her body instantly responded, his voice spreading through every nerve-ending. She hated him for that.

"Now that's out of the way," he said casually, "can we talk?" He still held her firmly, but she ignored him. "I'm not gong to hurt you Lizzie. Look at me."

She did. His eyes were soft, and there was fire there that wasn't there before. _He's enjoying this_, she thought. "Come with me to Cuba."

"Got to hell," she shot back.

"I had a timeshare there once and believe me, it's vastly overrated," he said glibly. "Come with me to Cuba."

"Red -"

"What, Lizzie? What? What could you possibly say that would be an adequate excuse for you not coming with me."

She closed her eyes and let out a small breath. "Let me go Red," she said quietly. Their faces were inches apart, and the warmth from his skin held her more so than his physical power.

He surprised her by doing as she asked. She rubbed her wrists, coaxing the feeling back into he hands as he looked at her. She worried the scar on her palm instinctively, and his eyes tracked it. She stopped, feeling self conscious.

"If you ever do that again I swear to you-"

"Be careful of your next words, Lizzie, or you'll never find out about that scar."

She looked at him, shocked. He he paid her no mind. "Luli, as you will," he said quietly into his watch. Liz stared at him, dumbfounded as the elevator lurched to life. "What did you say?"

"Your scar," Red said conversationally as he straightened his tailored vest. "I met your father the night before the accident." He looked at her knowingly. "If you can call it an accident."

The elevator settled and two halves of yellow steel opened into daylight. Red adjusted his fedora and slipped on a pair of designer sunglasses. He stepped out into the sun.

"Red, wait."

He stopped but did not turn around. Secretly, he smiled.

-0-0-0-


	2. Chapter 2

**A moment of silence for Luli. She will live on in my fic. Thank you so much to everyone who is reading/following/commenting.**

-0-0-0-

Red opened the door for her before climbing in himself. Liz sat uncomfortably, knees together and staring wistfully out of the window. There was plenty of room in the back of the luxury car, but Liz had managed to wedge herself into the farthest corner.

"I have to call Cooper," she said. Red waived his hand dismissively. "No need. I have your mission briefing right here."

_Bastard_. He had known she would go with him before they stepped foot in that elevator. The power he seemed to have over Cooper was disconcerting; she hoped it wouldn't end up compromising the Bureau. Liz had pressed Cooper about it _once. _She wouldn't do that again.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He smiled at her smugly. Red sat facing her, his legs crossed and his fedora over his knee. "Save your money Red. You don't want to know what I'm thinking."

She kept her head buried in the mission briefing all the way to the private air strip. He never stopped watching her.

-0-0-0-

The private jet wasn't that spacious, but she'd chosen a seat near the back as far away from Red as possible. She reclined on her side, sinking into the supple gray leather with a blanket pulled up to her chin. She did not sleep. Quietly, she wondered what the hell she was doing on a plane with Raymond Reddington when the one thing she needed most was distance from him.

"Lizzie." Her eyes were closed, feigning sleep, but she could feel his cool shadow over her. She opened one eye.

"Go away Red."

He laughed that throaty chuckle of his she found so unnerving. "I can't. We've work to do." He settled in the seat adjacent to her and waited for her sit up.

Regrettably, she shirked the warm comfort of the blanket and smoothed her ruffled hair. "What do you want?" To her ears she sounded whiny, and she detested that.

He smiled. "The man we're looking for is a weapons dealer, among other things, and a procurer of rare items of the rather dangerous sort."

"I've read the briefing, Red."

He continued, nonplussed. "What you haven't read is that Manny is also in bed with some of the biggest Russian arms dealers in the world, arms dealers that have plans on making their debut on the American scene very soon. One of them is now in Cuba."

Liz had been listening despite her apparent indifference. "Is that why you need me, for meeting the other contact?"

He nodded, his head slightly tilted. "That, and for number 15 on my bucket list...'walk on a beach with Lizzie.'" He smiled his little half smile. "I'd really like to cross that one off."

Much to her annoyance, she felt a blush spreading over her face and neck. "You're an asshole Red." She turned away from him, grabbing her blanket and pulling it over her like a protective shield.

Red, obviously satisfied with having gotten under skin, turned to the slight, dark haired woman near the front of the plane. "Luli," he called a little too loudly. "Luli come sit with me. Lizzie is being mean." His impetuous tone made him sound like a spoiled child, which, to Liz at least, was partly true. She watched as the woman dutifully closed the laptop she was working on and met Red halfway. She moved cat-like, Liz observed, and when she met Red she snaked an arm around his waist. He leaned in and kissed her just below the ear. They walked off together holding hands.

Liz suddenly did not want to be there, in his world and on his terms. She didn't want to be one of his playthings like Luli or another pawn in his twisted games. She didn't want to be any of it.

-0-0-0-


	3. Chapter 3

-0-0-0-

They arrived in Cuba in the late afternoon. She was groggy from the flight and the period of rest; Liz had always been a person who felt better when up and moving. As for Red, he looked annoyingly refreshed. Whatever he'd done with Luli probably had something to do with that, Liz thought. He wore a fresh suit and fedora, both in a lighter color. Luli was nowhere to be found.

Liz realized she was fixating on the girl, on him, and she forcibly stopped herself. What he did with whom was nothing to her.

"Lizzie?" She looked up to find Red standing over her. "You were a thousand miles away just then." He quirked his mouth. "Can I come?"

He held out his hand. She ignored it. She pushed past him to walk down the short aisle toward the exit. "No," she called back over her shoulder. "You can't."

He pursed his lips and followed her into the warm afternoon of Havana.

-0-0-0-

They cut through the tight streets in the back of a blue '56 Chevy in pristine condition. The white leather interior had not a scratch on it, and the chrome and whitewalls gleamed. Liz looked out of the window eagerly. She had never been to Cuba (or many places outside of the U.S., for that matter), and the latent excitement of being in new surroundings began to stir her interest beyond the mission at hand. Liz had not seen enough of the city to formulate an opinion, but everything from the window looked vibrant and relaxed. She suddenly felt out of place in her black pantsuit and realized she hadn't packed any bags.

Red looked utterly at home as Dembe drove. "Up here on the left, Dembe."

"Where are we going?" Neither of them had spoken since the plane. Red looked at her. "To that little place I told you about," he said with a smile.

-0-0-0-

Red guided her into the small shop, his hand resting comfortably in the small of her back. His hands were warm, and his touch seemed to burn through the fabric and into her skin, making it hard for her to focus. Liz imagined finding the ghost of that touch later that night in the mirror.

Red greeted the older woman behind the counter, speaking to her in fluent Spanish. Liz caught a few phrases in the friendly exchange but nothing she could piece together. The woman regarded her briefly, then said something to Red. When she walked away, his expression was unreadable.

Red held out his arm, vying for her escort. For appearances sake, Liz dutifully slipped her arm in his. "What did she say back there," she inquired quietly as they walked near the back of the shop. Red paused, considering. "I told Margarite that I needed something beautiful. She told me I already had that."

There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her, and she instantly reddened. Liz chided herself for the little slip; it was very likely Red was lying. He was a master manipulator, after all. She could sense the heat in her face anyway and it seemed to please him.

When they reached the small back room, Liz was surrounded in seconds by a half dozen hands that measured, trimmed, and matched fabric against various parts of her body. The seamstresses compared fabric swatches from bolts of rich and brightly colored fabric, periodically asking Liz to chose this color or that textile. Although she had no proof, she was sure that Red had vetoed at least a few of her decisions behind her back.

He sat in a large chair in the corner of the room, sipping tea with a newspaper on his lap. He looked incredibly relaxed. She envied that about him. Red seemed to exude a sort of practiced comfort almost anywhere. She wished she could accomplish half as much contentment at home, let alone away.

Red allowed her to take a few things off the rack, but those items had to be altered to fit her body perfectly. The rest were to be custom made. _How long did he think she would be here, anyway, _she thought absently. Liz found the whole affair highly excessive, but did not protest.

After the measurements and alterations, she was taken to a dressing room to change. Instead of the clothes she had chosen, though, there hung a single dress on a hook. A simple, white, Guayabera dress. The one Red had mentioned back at the black site. She realized then that Cuba was just another stage for one of Red's dramas, an elaborate game of which she was an integral piece. The confrontation in the elevator was just a means to draw her out. The tease about her scar sealed the deal. For whatever reason, he wanted her here, in Cuba, and Red always got what he wanted.

She held the dress out in front of her. The hand-stitching on the cotton dress was stunning, intricate. The garment itself was almost fragile. She wondered briefly if that's what Red saw when he looked at her.

Liz balled up the delicate dress and let it fall to the floor. With her limited Spanish, Liz called Margarite to the dressing room.

-0-0-0-

Liz half-turned in the floor length mirror, pressing the hem of her short blouse and fussing with the tie. The blouse was dark blue like the skirt, and it wrapped across her body where she'd secured it with a hasty bow. Her long Georgette skirt hung just below her hips, leaving a discreet inch of midriff exposed.

She walked into the parlor of the little shop feeling somewhat satisfied with herself. She hadn't bent to Raymond Reddington's will, and with this reveal she intended to claim her victory. Liz strode across the rug, stopping for a few seconds to allow Red to appraise her defiant choice. She even allowed herself a smug little smile as she searched his face for any surprise or disappointment. To her displeasure, she found none. Red studied her quietly, his face impassive, his eyes softer than usual. He stood quickly and was shortly at her side. "I was hoping you would choose blue," he said seductively in her ear. "It matches your eyes, Lizzie." And then, as if by design, his hand found its usual place at the small of her back. Only this time, there was no fabric there to buffer the effect of his touch. The soft pads of his fingers were warm, yet they produced goose flesh on her exposed skin. She could sense his suppressed smile as he led her out of the store.

_Some victory_.

-0-0-0-


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you so much for the support thus far; it's definitely keeping me motivated. I appreciate every favorite/follow/comment.

Summary: Red makes good on his word.

-0-0-0-

Liz strode along the white sugar sand of Playas del Este about three feet ahead of Red. She was grateful for the reprieve. His touch was unsettling, unwelcome. She was in a strange country with a known criminal; she needed all of her faculties in tact.

They still had a few hours before they met Manny, and Red had insisted on coming here. _"I want to show you, Lizzie." _He'd been so emphatic, displaying an enthusiasm and vigor that made him seem younger and somehow harder to argue with.

She stole a glance behind her. Red walked easily in the sand. He'd taken off his suit coat and carried it over one shoulder. His sunglasses were the color of day's end, seeming to both absorb and reflect the setting sun. When she saw that his pant legs were cuffed at the ankle and his feet were bare, she fought hard to suppress a smile.

He caught her looking at him. "This is my favorite place in Cuba," he said. The tide was coming in, and the crashing waves nearly stole his words. He did look very at home here, she thought. She stopped walking until he was by her side again. "It's beautiful," she said. She wrapped her arms around herself. "I used to love going to the beach."

The wind had combed her hair until it was textured and wavy, and it swam around her face in wild tendrils with the swirling ocean breeze. Red reached out to smooth one away from her face, letting his hand linger on the back of her neck for a moment before withdrawing. "Then you should go more often," he said quietly.

"Yeah." She gave him a halfhearted smile. It was a poor disguise for the apparent sadness now darkening her features, but it was the first smile he'd seen from Liz in far too long. As much as he knew about Lizzie, there continued to be things that took him by surprise.

He offered her his arm, and he was surprised when she didn't hesitate in taking it. Red noticed her quiet shiver. "I would offer you my coat, but you probably wouldn't wear it," he said as they walked.

She looked straight ahead. "No," she answered quickly.

Red's soft laughter carried on the wind. Her stubborn self reliance was one of the many things he loved about Lizzie.

They walked in companionable silence. Liz had taken off her shoes, too, and they dangled from her right hand like delicate ornaments glinting in the dying light. She worried her bottom lip, perhaps ciphering how she should broach his little tease back in the elevator. "So I am here," she said quietly. "Don't you have something to tell me?"

She looked at him so expectantly that it made Red feel broken, hollowed out. He recognized for maybe the first time the true pain of her unknowing, of how frustratingly out of control she must feel nearly every moment because she has so few words to write the history of her life thus far.

He said nothing. Instead, he directed them to a pair of wooden beach chairs that faced the rising tide.

Red sighed, looking out over the sea. "You were four years old when it happened," he began. "It was not an accident as you've been told, as you probably remember. Your father branded you with an insignia. For your protection." His words came in measured lengths, careful and precise. "Later, your scar was treated to look less perfect, to resemble an accident so as to not raise suspicion." He looked at her a little sadly. "A little girl should not have to pay physical testimony to her father's crimes."

Liz traced the outline of the scar with her finger as if seeing it for the first time. Her hand shook imperceptibly. "What do you mean insignia," she whispered breathlessly. Liz knew of her father's involvement in a mysterious criminal underworld, but she knew little else.

Red looked out over the white caps and into the dark oblivion beyond. It would be a starless night. He fixed his mouth, considering what he could tell her that would be both satisfying and safe. "The insignia represented your father's work," he said cryptically. "The organization was so..._storied _that no one with the mark could be touched. When it disbanded, those within the group had no need of the identifier." He looked at her, his face unreadable. "I had mine removed years ago."

Liz gasped despite herself. "So you knew my father," she said numbly. He only nodded. She could sense he was nearing the end of his generosity as far as her history was concerned.

"Your father and I were very close. I watched you grow up, Lizzie, protected you from afar." His voice trailed off, lost in memories of her she didn't have. "Your father gave you that mark to protect you. I know that is hard to understand, but it's true. His was an act of love."

She put her head back on the wooden chair and closed her eyes. The roar of the ocean seemed to dissipate some of the chaos in her head, seemed to cancel it out. "Will I ever know everything," she whispered. Red's answers had wrought even more questions, yet she was grateful for them. It was a place to start.

"We never know everything," Red said quietly. "But in due time, you will know enough."

-0-0-0-


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I can't thank you enough for the support for this story. Your comments have been so helpful and insightful; I appreciate every one. I find myself refining and retooling each chapter based on your feedback, and that makes a me a better writer. Selfishly, I would love some feedback on this chapter, especially. Thank you!

-0-0-0-

"Now you."

Liz eyed the amber liquid evenly. Without looking at Red, she palmed the shot glass and tossed back the drink without a thought. The rush of warmth was both weakening and empowering. She hadn't let go like this in a while, and it actually felt good.

"If I didn't know better I would think you were trying to get me drunk Reddington."

He smiled a predatory smile but said nothing. He tossed back his own shot, finishing with ease and flourish. He methodically poured another and pushed it to the center of the table. _Her turn. _

The little hangout was bustling in the late hour. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and the air was smoky and thick. She reached for the latest shot, pinning Red with a challenging stare.

But for once, he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were trained on the front entrance, on the bulky, dark-clad figure walking in. Suddenly, he stood and was at her side in a second. He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up. When she protested, he leaned into her hair. "Manny's here," he said into her ear. "Oh, and I forgot to mention this, but you're my dance instructor."

She looked at him open disdain. "I can't dance," she said through clenched teeth. If looks could kill, Red thought he might be dead on the floor.

"Just follow my lead," he said smoothly.

Red pulled her onto the dance floor, crushing his body against hers. Her legs were rubbery from an hour of drinking, and Red's proximity only worsened matters. The room was hot, and he was too close. Much too close.

The music started and he opened up their frame. It was the cha-cha, she surmised, and absolutely terrifying. "Red, please." Liz looked at him with such desperate pleading that he almost took pity on her. Almost. Instead, he led her through the steps with such mastery that it looked like he was the novice. "Up here, Lizzie." She was looking at the floor. "Into my eyes."

She met Red's gaze and found herself steadied, relaxed. As instructed, she focused on him. She noticed with fascination how his eyes vacillated from emerald to jade and back again. After a few moments, she could not feel the floor or hear the music; there was only Red, and she was tethered to him. The ease of it unnerved her, the comfort of the space between them, his hand warm and fingers splayed across her back. Overwhelmed, she pulled away from him, nearly stumbling, and instantly regretted that last shot. "Dammit, Red, why can't you just slow dance like everyone else?"

He laughed then and drew her close. "If you insist, my dear."

His eyes portrayed a sort of dark charm as he encircled her. His hand smoothed down her back, stopping to rest firmly just below its usual place. She prayed silently that he couldn't feel her tremble. The other hand slipped beneath her hair, the lightest of touches, yet his cool fingers on her delicate skin produced a tight coil of warmth low in her belly. Her heart beat faster. Seemingly of their own will her hands moved up across his broad shoulders, returning the embrace. Red was both supple and strong, and his shoulders beneath her hands felt like coming home.

With her head on his chest, she didn't have to look at him; it was her only salvation. The security she felt when she was this close to him was disturbing. Wordlessly, they swayed to the music, the alcohol's effects only augmenting Liz's sense of peace.

His face brushed against her cheek, settling there as they began to sway. The smallest sound from him reverberated through their bodies, something akin to a low purr, and the shockwaves of that little moan began to threaten her fortitude. He nuzzled her ear.

"You're a wonderful dancer Lizzie."

It was the first time he'd ever lied to her. His voice, deep and ragged, was the same timbre of that little sound, and she caught the warmth and scent of him full force. Liz could feel his breath on her neck, warm and steady as they swayed rhythmically to the music. His lips brushed her jawline and she openly shivered. The soft chuckle that elicited from him was delightful, and he tightened his arms around her to quell the quiet tremble there. The feel of that sound from him was something she could get very used to, she realized. She imagined her resolve unraveling in ribbons at her feet.

Red withdrew, wanting to see her face, and Liz inwardly frowned at the loss of contact. He cupped the back of her neck with one hand, the other still around her waist. He looked into her eyes.

It dawned on her then, with her body nested perfectly into his and with the warmth and strength of his arms around her and his soft eyes searching her face, that she wanted him. She wanted Red Reddington, one of the world's most dangerous criminals, more than she had ever wanted any man (including her husband). It was an admission that both freed and horrified her.

"Get your hands off me," she protested weakly. She pushed against him but it was no use. Her face was flushed and she was breathing rapidly.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he murmured into her hair, "unless you want to get us both killed. Manny has at least two men watching us."

She looked then and she could see them clearly. Two men almost as imposing as Dembe stood near the other exits. They wore fedoras similar to Red's, but they made the look brutish rather than debonair. Liz wondered briefly if Dembe and Luli's position outside were strategic enough.

She wrapped her arms around him then and felt him instantly relax. Secretly, she smiled at her power and wondered briefly how else it might be manifested with Red Reddington. Just as she had begun to contemplate specifics, a boisterous voice broke her revelry.

"Red, you old gigolo, you always had a weakness for the ladies." Manny clapped Red on the shoulder good-naturedly, a gesture Red simply ignored. "As good as any weakness to have," Red countered coolly. Liz wondered briefly if he was annoyed by the interruption.

"Manny, this is my dance instructor, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Manny, the most nefarious womanizer you will ever have the displeasure of meeting."

Manny chuckled as he took Elizabeth's hand to his lips. "You've just described yourself Reddington," he said in a thick Cuban accent. "Let's get a table, shall we?"

They dined on spicy fish with rice and black beans and fresh fruit. Manny talked freely about the purchase of Strontium 90 in front of Liz. He was well acquainted with Red and his many "stylists," "massage therapists," and even "dance instructors" and they were all the same. Arm candy with no brain. There was no risk talking in front of her. That, and the fact that Red wouldn't let her out of his sight even if there was.

"I'm interested in meeting Sergei," Red said casually. "When will he be arriving in Havana?"

Manny looked guarded, uncomfortable at the mention of the man's name, Liz surmised. Probably some bad blood between them despite their history. Liz could detect fear in the man's face. She was beginning to understand the duplicitous nature of the criminal relationship.

"Tomorrow." He took a swig of water around his mouthful of food. "I'd like you to deal with him through me, Red."

Red remained impassive. "Out of the question," he said firmly. "You know I meet all of my contacts in person." Liz mulled that over. Red had said something once about not having a cell phone for that same reason, that he preferred to do business face to face. _ Establish and maintain dominance_, she thought.

"Red, this man is a small fish in a big, unfamiliar pond. You would gain more access to him by being less approachable." Manny fingered his large gold watch. "Make a statement."

Red cocked his head, seemingly in thought. "You want to be the intermediary," he said smoothly. "Make a profit from my business transaction. Don't you think you've made enough money just by knowing me?" His eyes narrowed.

Manny's eye twitched. Liz could feel the presence of his henchmen where they stood blocking the exits at strategic points throughout the establishment. She suddenly realized who Manny was afraid of. Red.

The man laughed heartily, poorly masking his apprehension. "Reddington, you do me a disservice," he said good naturedly. "I only mean to make things better for you. If you want to maintain your position in Havana, you have to be more strategic." His eyes flitted to Liz, down to her breasts, and then back at Red. "Don't get distracted."

She could feel Red tense. Liz couldn't decide what had angered him more, Manny telling him how to run his business, or his lascivious little glance in her direction. Whatever it was, he was livid in that very Red way of his. His eyes were smooth, but there was a darkness there. His mouth was a flat line. She'd seen him like that one other time, with the Stewmaker.

"You mean only to make things better for you," he said darkly. Red stood, reaching for Lizzie's hand. "I will meet with Sergei in the morning. We may not meet again."

Manny swallowed then, fully examining the implication of Red's words. Raymond Reddington liked to beat you in every way possible-physically, mentally, strategically. Manny said nothing as he watched the two walk arm in arm into the night.

-0-0-0-


	6. Chapter 6

-0-0-0-

The hacienda was warm and thick with night air. The large windows were open, and gossamer curtains breathed gently with the swaying breeze. The room was spacious and well apportioned, lit nearly entirely by the large pale moon through the open windows.

"May I pour you a drink Lizzie?" Red was surprisingly cheerful after his tense meeting with Manny. Liz put up her hand to stop him. "I've had quite enough for one night, thank you."

She sat down on a beautiful chaise lounge and contemplated a shower, but Red was across the tiled floor and next to her with his drink before she could move to stand. There was a folder on the coffee table in front of them. He noticed her eyeing it.

"Your cover story for tomorrow," he explained. She thumbed through the pages as he talked. "You are an American defector now living in Russia. You have intimate knowledge of weapons systems and would like to make a contact with infinite resources. Your ambition should line up well with Sergei's." He finished his drink and sat back on the reclining end. "You're just starting out, like Sergei, so you should not pose a threat to him. What you do pose is an opportunity to make lots of money. You're using me as an intermediary."

Liz nodded, placing the file on the table in front of them. The little stretch caused her to wince, and Red missed nothing.

"Lizzie, what's wrong with your shoulder?" His concern was genuine as was his curiosity; very little ever took him by surprise.

She rubbed her left shoulder absently. "Nothing," she lied. She wouldn't look at him and she certainly didn't want to talk about it.

He said nothing but his eyes never left her face. His hand reached out, but she flinched away. She resented the ownership he sometimes exacted over her, but she often found herself powerless against it. She put up a hand between them. "There's nothing wrong with me," she spat. Her shoulder throbbed; it seemed outraged at the lie and was eager to prove her wrong.

Dutifully he withdrew his hand, watching her intently. Waiting. She looked down at her lap for several moments.

"The Stewmaker...hurt me," she said finally. The words were barely audible. She had told no one until now, not even Tom. Nervously, she drew a figure eight over her scar. "He stuck me with needles. It's never healed." Her voice never broke, but a single tear slid out from under her thick lashes.

Red hadn't breathed. He watched her with rapt attention, his face unreadable. Cool fingers caressed her face. "Lizzie." His voice was ragged, and when she looked into his face, his eyes shone with unspent tears. "I'm so sorry sweetheart." He pulled her to him gingerly. "I'm sorry I was not there sooner."

Liz wrapped her arms around him, under his jacket. She clung to him, a life raft on an endless sea. She wouldn't cry; she'd cried enough. She would drift with Red for as long as he would let her. He was solid, safe.

He stroked her hair. She still smelled like the ocean, hearty and alive. "Lizzie," he finally said. "Do you trust me?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Yes," she said. She realized she'd spoken the truth. She could trust Red with her safety, her life.

He gently turned her around so that her back was toward him. His right arm went around her body, under her breasts, and held her tightly. Her heart fluttered. "Red-"

"Shh," he soothed. "It will only hurt for a little while." A small shiver of fear racked her body as he tightened his embrace. Her eyes grew wide. His hand worked the little tie at her side, loosening her blouse. She tensed, pushing his hand away.

"Stop fighting me," he murmured. It was the same thing he'd said to her in the elevator. Liz closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing.

He brushed her hair away, exposing her neck and shoulder. His free hand lathed little circles there, kneading experimentally and then smoothing away the soreness. _This is not so bad_, she thought.

Then, his hand slipped beneath the collar of her blouse. He applied pressure right over the bundle of nerves set on fire by the Stewmaker. She cried out despite herself. The pain was shocking, nearly as bad as that night in the cabin. She felt sick. He rested his face alongside hers, placing a gentle kiss at her temple. Liz could feel his stubble on her cheek. And then, the pressure increased.

She was openly crying now. The pain was blinding, a white-out poker; it was everywhere, everything. She struggled to breathe, to maintain control. Red rubbed little circles at her side, steadying her, calming her. His cool breath blew over her face, chilling the tears there and keeping her conscious. Red her torturer, her comforter.

He moved his fingers again, applying gentle pressure at a new angle and with less intensity. The pain began to dissipate in degrees, replaced by a warmth, a pleasure that stole her breath. She closed her eyes, letting it build around her.

Red's lips were at her ear. "Feeling better Lizzie?" His voice was both ragged and smooth. He smiled into her neck and placed a gentle kiss there.

Whatever was left of her higher brain function permitted her a weak nod. The pain was gone, but it had left a sweeter agony than before. She wet her lips, stifling a moan. Liz found his hand at her waist and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She could feel his breath on her neck as he moved her collar up to its rightful place. Liz thought she could sense a slight tremble in his hand as he put both arms around her and retied the blouse.

"Red." The sound of his name on her lips was both foreign and familiar. She delighted in its alien magnetism. She turned to look at him. His eyes were dark and telling and seemed to hold her there. The light from the full moon cast his features in sharp and beautiful contrast.

She put her hands on either side of his face, drawing him close enough for her mouth to claim his. She kissed him.

Red grunted in surprise, and she smiled against him. He buried his hands in her hair, lips moving easily over hers. Experimental at first, then proprietary. She moved her arms down to his neck, his chest; through the gaps in his buttoned shirt her fingers found the fine blond hair there.

Red deepened the kiss, exploring the depths of her mouth, drinking her in. She needed him completely. She began pulling at his vest, his tie, struggling with the intricate knot. There was no tragic past or uncertain future, then. There was him, and this, and it was all that mattered.

Red's hands moved down her back to cup her backside. His mouth was hot, eager, burning the flesh of her face, her neck, the shell of her ear. His teeth scraped along her collar bone, and she gasped. He pulled her into his lap, his hands at her waist, and looked at her. She was beautiful. More than beautiful. Her lips were full, her eyes heavy with desire. Her skin was awash in moonlight and it shone with an ethereal glow. He needed to see more of it. His hand worked the little tie he'd fastened only moments before, letting her blouse fall away. She finished removing it by pulling her arms through the sleeves and tossing it onto the floor.

Red had never wanted a woman more, loved a woman more than he wanted and loved Elizabeth Keen. Reverently, he smoothed his hands down her arms, his touch leaving goose flesh in its wake. She smiled down at him through a curtain of hair. Her lace bra was lavender and matched the cool luminescence of her skin. Her breasts heaved gently with her breath, the softly swelling mounds dewy in the humid air. Red placed an open-mouthed kiss there.

Liz arched her back in response, a small moan escaping her lips. Every sense was on fire; she was scorched by his touch, emblazoned by the branding iron of his supple mouth. Their mutual desire permeated her body and mind.

And it frightened her, too. The little voice that had been so dormant, so trampled by her need began to awaken. It needled her in the dark. She silenced the small warning voice; it did not know. How could it?

Liz moved against his hardness, felt him inhale sharply. His hands moved up her sides, fixing her there. Red looked at her with open wonder; he marveled at this rare creature born and blinking at the sun, the center of his world.

She realized then that she could love him. She could love this man who knew everything and nothing about her, who was brutal yet tender, who was her protector and endangerer. She could love him and never look back.

But then she thought of Tom. Tom, her husband but not her love. A man she admittedly had questions about, yet was still bound to. The little voice wailed.

Red sensed the change in her immediately. Tears spilled unbidden down her face and she covered them with her hands. "Oh God Red," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

He embraced her gently, tucking her head beneath his chin. He rubbed her arms lightly. "I know," he said into her hair. "It's ok."

She turned her face into his chest. She couldn't look at him. "I'll wait for you Lizzie," he told her after several moments. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

-0-0-0-

I apologize profusely for the tease. Don't throw things, but do tell me what you think :).


	7. Chapter 7

-0-0-0-

She woke up a little later than usual. The sun streamed through the sheer curtains, warming the already bright bedroom with mellow tones. She stretched leisurely in the large bed and closed her eyes. Suddenly, the events of last night came streaming back. His hands on her, warm, reassuring. His mouth, relentless. Her face burned hot with the memory, tempering the cool pillow.

Liz padded to the bathroom where she dressed and prepared for the day. She chose a pair of cream-colored slacks and matching silk blouse. The lighter color helped to cool the blush in her cheeks.

She finished tucking in her blouse and pushed open the double doors that led to the great room. Red was sitting at a small table with a glass of orange juice and the morning paper. He did not look up. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"I did actually." She crossed to the counter and poured her own glass of juice. Grey appeared from nowhere then with a tray of pastries. She looked at him a little stupefied, unable to comprehend his being there since to her knowledge he wasn't on their plane. She chose a croissant from the tray. He did not acknowledge her.

Red folded the paper and placed it on the glass table. "How's your shoulder?"

"Great," she said casually. She stretched for a plate on a higher shelf, and his eyes never left her. "Whatever you did to me, Red, it helped immensely."

He smiled generously at her back. "I'm sure it did."

_Damn. _She slowly turned around to absorb the full brunt of his satisfied smirk. Momentarily, her temper flared. She imagined slapping him, kissing him, maybe both. Instead, she joined him at the table.

As much as her ire delighted him, he quickly amended his expression. "Acupressure," he replied simply. He was spreading jam onto half of an English muffin with such methodical ease that she found herself momentarily fascinated. "I learned about reflexology in China. I'm glad it made you feel...better." He savored that last word, no doubt languishing in the memory of last night. He smiled seductively, and she tracked the English muffin all the way to his mouth. Suddenly, Liz felt very warm.

She cleared her throat and picked at her own pastry. "What's the plan today?" She felt flustered, and it would be good to get to work if only to keep her mind busy.

"We meet Sergei at noon. That leaves us just a little over an hour. You slept late Lizzie."

She chewed thoughtfully, fighting her way through the awkwardness that was apparently affecting only her. "I was exhausted," she said finally.

He nodded, looking at her. He was staring at her so intently that she stopped chewing. "You look absolutely stunning this morning, Lizzie. That color complements you so well."

She shut her eyes and exhaled a long breath through her nose. "I can't do this Red."

Liz stood and crossed to the kitchen. She placed her plate in the sink with a clatter and briefly imagined Grey silently retrieving it after both of them had gone. "I can't have a conversation about this right now."

She was pacing, her hands on her hips. He met her halfway, somewhat bemused by her apparent discomfort. "What conversation," he inquired gently. "I was simply paying you a compliment Lizzie, nothing more."

He closed the distance between them, but he she wouldn't look at him. "Hey," he said quietly. He cupped the side of her face. "I said I would wait for you. I meant that. Everything is on your terms, always."

She looked at him blankly. His words made no sense given the fact that he had orchestrated nearly every second of their time together from the moment of their first meeting. She wondered how he could mean it and if he really did.

"I may wait for you, but I'm not immune to your charms," he said slyly. He leaned in close, just above her ear, and she could tell he had freshly shaved. "The tailoring on those pants is immaculate."

She laughed and pushed him off playfully. Secretly she appreciated the remark, Red Reddington's unique way of telling her she had a nice ass.

She looked up at him, suddenly worried. "Are we ok?" Liz didn't want what had happened or didn't happen the night before to spoil their working relationship. Their friendship.

Red favored her with his twitch of a smile. "Of course we are. And we will be." He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Now let's get to work."

-0-0-0-

Sergei Romanov was a slight man with jet black hair and small deep-set eyes. He wore a dark suit that looked too big for him. Mirrored sunglasses were perched on his angular nose. To Liz, he looked incredibly young.

Liz had donned a matching blazer to complete her ensemble, and she wore a pair of amber-colored glasses not unlike Red's. She had to admit he had impeccable taste.

She strode across the sunlit street, Red's hand at her back. The blazing sun picked up the auburn in her hair, and the tendrils flamed against the light-colored suit. When they reached the street adjacent to the meeting place, Red fell back and out of step with her.

He loved the way she carried herself, shoulders back and delicate chin jutted ever so slightly. It has not always been this way, he thought. He allowed himself a small smile of admiration for this woman who was so many things to him, who he had known and not known for so long.

Dembe had arranged the meeting at a small street cafe several miles away. The man saw them coming and stiffened almost imperceptibly.

"Sergei," Red said warmly. "This is my associate, Tara Collins." Sergei stood and appraised them, but did not offer his hand. Liz winced inwardly. She knew how Red detested rudeness.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Collins?" The man's Russian accent was watered down from life abroad.

Liz studied him. "Not as much as I can do for you," she countered easily. "I'm not looking for a partnership, Mr. Romanov. I'm looking for contacts. I have information, you have questions." She sat back in the chair.

"Ms. Collins is more interested in an alliance with you," Red interjected, "a working relationship. Here are her terms." Red slid the dossier with Liz's fabricated information across the table.

Sergei glanced at it only briefly. "You are aware of the implications of my involvement with an American." He looked at her appraisingly. "And a woman."

Liz pursed her lips slightly and met the man's cool stare. "America no longer has anything to offer me," she said darkly. "And as for my being a woman, well, that's your problem."

Sergei smiled crookedly, revealing a row of sharp teeth. His youthful appearance was gone, and his dark expression made Liz uncomfortable though she did not portray it. "I think we can work something out," he said finally. "Now if we can just look at those access codes-"

Red's bitter laughter cut him off abruptly. "Sergei, you really have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Red's laughter abruptly stopped, leaving a cold tension in the air. He looked at the man derisively, then back at Liz. "I'm sorry I wasted your time, Ms. Collins." Red stood and let Liz lead them away from the table. To his satisfaction, Red could feel the man's control slipping.

"Mr. Reddington, wait," Sergei said hurriedly. "You haven't heard my terms. Please."

With his back still turned, Red smiled. Facing him again, he eyed the man coldly, then looked over at Liz. "Ms. Collins?" His eyes twinkled when he looked at her; he was letting her take the reigns, she realized, and he was enjoying every minute of it.

Liz looked at the man Red had so easily deduced to a sniveling puddle. "Let's talk," she said.

-0-0-0-

Thank you for the comments, feedback, and continued support; I appreciate it so much. Unless things change, there's one more chapter. I'm a bit sad to leave Cuba. I can only hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I have.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you everyone. I've enjoyed this story and I appreciate every one of your comments and shows of support. This is how I leave them.

-0-0-0-

Sitting at the dining table in the hacienda, Red and Liz reviewed the information obtained from meeting with the contact. Sergei had provided them with the names of several of his source men, a lead that could potentially open up a rabbit hole of black market criminal activity and espionage leading to he arrest of arms dealers all the way up to a few blacklisters.

She couldn't stop thinking of how Red had worked Sergei. That sort of confidence only came with practice, and as an active participant in the criminal world for most of his life, Red had plenty of it. She sometimes forgot the life he led.

Dembe loomed in the doorway, filling most of its frame. As if expecting his appearance, Red met him there. After watching them converse quietly for a few moments, Red turned to look at her from across the room. "Lizzie, there's something I need to take care of. You can stay here with Luli." It wasn't a question or a suggestion but a simple pronouncement. Seemingly from nowhere, the lithe woman appeared around the corner.

"You girls don't get into to much trouble while I'm gone," he trilled lightly. He winked at Luli before he slipped out into the night.

_Great_, Liz thought. She could barely tolerate the woman's presence, and here she was her charge. Liz was sure the woman felt the same about her.

Luli walked languidly into the great room, folding herself into a high-back chair in Liz's line of sight. She wore an amused expression, obviously enjoying Liz's discomfort.

Liz busied herself with the notes from their meeting with Sergei and decided it was a good time to check in with Cooper. She called him on the satellite phone Red had given her and transmitted her field notes. Then, she decided to call Tom.

The line rang once, twice, three times. On the fourth ring, she ended the call. She wondered why he wouldn't answer at 8pm on a Wednesday. Maybe the teachers meeting ran late.

With all her modes of distraction exhausted, she returned to her notes. Liz read them at least three times before Luli came and sat at the table.

"You did good work today."

Liz looked up from her laptop, both surprised by her comment and annoyed by the woman's presence. "Thank you," Liz said tightly.

"You have to wonder though," Luli said silkily, "why Red just didn't use me as the contact instead of you. Why you even had to come at all." She drummed her fingers on the table, looking at Liz. "I mean _you_ would have to wonder, of course, because most everyone else already knows."

Liz ignored her in the stretching silence, dutifully reading the same sentence for the tenth time, anything to keep from giving Luli the attention she so desperately craved. "Perhaps my knowledge of U.S. defense systems?" She tried to sound as distracted and disinterested as possible.

Luli threw back her head in a lilting laugh, and Liz could see her perfect white teeth. "No silly, I know at least as much as you." She tsked quietly. "No, it has to be something else."

Liz had had enough. She closed her laptop and matched Luli's intimidating stare. "Why don't you enlighten me then, if you know so much."

Luli pursed her lips, considering. "I'm not supposed to say," she said finally.

Liz allowed herself a satisfied smile. "What a pity. How does it feel to be Reddington's little pet? To eat when fed, to speak when commanded?"

Liz's jab must've hit a chord, because the woman's eyes flamed. "Didn't you just describe yourself?" she said acidly. "You are his pet project, after all...his little '_Lizzie'_." She chewed the sinews of the last word, letting it spoil on her tongue.

Suddenly, Liz recognized the poison in Luli's darts. Jealousy.

Liz stood, challenging the woman, and Luli met her there. The two women appraised each other critically. Liz came to the conclusion that while she might not be able to flirt her way out of a paper bag, she could certainly kick this girl's ass.

"Ahem. I do hate to interrupt a good cat fight, but Luli, my dear, you will have to be leaving. The hour is late, after all." Red stood just inside the doorway, barely veiled amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

Luli broke eye contact with Liz only when she was halfway to Red. He said something to her quietly and then kissed her cheek. She slinked away.

"So," he said cheerfully, "what have I missed?"

Liz was in no mood for his glib demeanor, and was still wound pretty tight from her tense moment with Luli. "Where were you?" For reasons that she didn't quite understand, she was bothered that he had gone somewhere without her.

"I had to take care of a few things," he said quietly. It was obvious to him that she was angry, but he didn't quite know why.

She walked steadily toward him. "What things?"

"Nothing you should know about, Lizzie." His expression was unsettling before it smoothed easily beneath the usual mask. He took off his fedora and laid it on the table.

"Why not," she said. "Dammit Red, you can't have it both ways. You can't have a partner and then work independently."

He was steadily closing the gap between them, and he regarded her curiously. "Actually, I can. My relationship with the FBI has nothing to do with my actual work," he said, his voice low. "I consider my work with the FBI as a sort of altruism, like volunteering at the local soup kitchen." He smirked.

She looked at him, her face unreadable. "What about with me," she asked quietly.

"My work doesn't concern you."

"You concern me," she shot back.

"Do I? What about Tom?"

Her face darkened at the mention of his name, but she said nothing. Instantly, he felt a twinge of regret for bringing him into the conversation. Tom Keen would be dealt with in due time. Red held her face in his hands and peered into her eyes.

"Oh Lizzie," he said quietly. "I will always tell you what I can," he said honestly. His thumb ghosted across her lips, and her eyes drifted closed. "I promise."

She slipped away from him, seeking the blessed clarity of distance rather than wilt in Raymond Reddington's sun. She eyed him coolly. "What did you and Dembe do tonight Red."

Red looked at her measuredly. She seemed intent on making a point though her reasons remained unclear. He had seen this dogged determination in her before, and he had found that it was best to humor it. He pursed his lips.

"We're hitting Manny's warehouses tonight. His whole operation, gone. Dembe needed my authorization on the final plan. The recovery of inventory and possible collateral damage."

"Collateral damage," she parroted. Does that mean human life?"

He looked at her, his eyes soft. "Possibly."

She realized then how out of place she was, how he would always have a foot in the criminal world and how she was forever the straight man.

"You didn't need me for this," she finally said. "You could have used Luli for the meeting with Sergei. So why have me come here, Red? Why have me do this at all?" She'd been walking steadily towards him as if she could draw the answers out of him.

He sighed. "I couldn't bear to go on the way things were between us. The way things were broken." He gave her a bleak little smile. "I thought the air would do you good."

She turned away from him, her arms folded tight across her body, and realized he was telling the truth. She swallowed. "Luli said I was your pet project," she said quietly. "What did she mean by that?"

Red grew very quiet. "Luli talks too much," he finally said. He was behind her now, his hands gliding along the length of her arms, and despite her tension, he felt her relax under his touch. "And what it means is that she's a jealous minx who wants what she can never have. My attention...my devotion...my heart." Each word was punctuated with a tender kiss on her shoulder, her temple, the top of her head. Liz felt the warmth of his feelings well within her and mingle with some of her own. She turned to face him.

"I can't live in your world Red." Her eyes glittered, her voice thick with emotion. She shook her head slightly. "I can't."

"I know," he said. "And I would never ask you to." His voice was tender, almost penitent. He smoothed her hair until he was framing her face with his hands. "But if we could meet somewhere in the middle..."

She huffed a little laugh. Was it any different than what they were doing now? Liz wondered how long she could walk a tightrope between light and dark, right and wrong. If Red was there to give her balance, perhaps she could do anything.

He kissed her then. Not with the ferocity of the night before, but with a sort of soft wonder and newness born of something deeper than desire. Something sacred, something real.

Liz didn't know if she could live as a citizen of two worlds, but she found herself needing to try.

-0-0-0-


End file.
